


in the fading light (will you dance with me?)

by vixen (hestiaandhercat)



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: AU, Character Death, Death, F/M, Human AU, Other, Solstice, Summer Solstice, but the master doesn't even kill anyone can you imagine, i was very depressed when i wrote this, people die
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-02-23 13:22:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23678770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hestiaandhercat/pseuds/vixen
Summary: They meet on the day of solstice.She is pretty in the way that pleases the eye, and her words are full of flowers and a laughter that she never actually laughs.He is pretty in a way that you won't notice until you've looked at him for a long time, after you've sat in front of a fire together for hours and talked about your past, or made your way through a snowy village just to meet him.They don't talk much, even though both of them love talking. That would involve feelings.
Relationships: The Doctor/The Master (Doctor Who)
Kudos: 5





	in the fading light (will you dance with me?)

They meet on the day of solstice.

She is pretty in the way that pleases the eye, and her words are full of flowers and a laughter that she never actually laughs.

He is pretty in a way that you won't notice until you've looked at him for a long time, after you've sat in front of a fire together for hours and talked about your past, or made your way through a snowy village just to meet him.

They don't talk much, even though both of them love talking. That would involve feelings, which they are not ready for, and so they simply don’t.

They take long walks in their minds sometimes, shared by nothing but a smile, and their laughter kindles them together in a way that they cannot explain to anyone who isn't themselves - and as it turns out, most people, are not, in fact, themselves, or them, or anyone, really.

Sometimes they pretend that they aren't people, because people are difficult and being a flower sounds like more fun. And so they are a flower or a tree or the sunlight on her hair, and they grow and shine and smile, and it's all done without any words to disrupt the silence in which they grow.

They kiss on the day of solstice.

They have met every year, always on the same mountain, and not talked while they sat and looked at the soon together. Most of the time, there will be other people there, and they hide behind their mindless chatter, because it makes their own silence feel less loud.

And sometimes, when they are sure that nobody else is watching, they'll pick flowers, but never actually give them to one another.

The fifth time that they are both around for the spectacle, she takes a step towards him, smiles an easy smile that he can't reciprocate, and then she kisses him, as easy as that.

They don't talk that day, or any of the days that follow. There is no sense in talking, either way.

They are quite sure of that, or at least she is (he is never sure of anything, but that is also okay, because neither is spring, and she tells him that with her eyes whenever she sees him worry).

He rushes back into the silence, back to her, whenever he is up the mountain. He has found a liking to the spot, and she seems to always be around when he makes his way up there.

And so he sits, next to her, looking down into the abyss, legs dangling, unsure if he should say anything, and never actually gathering up the courage to do so.

He isn't sure what else his life could come up with after her, and as it turns out, his life doesn’t know either.

But that is okay, because he is still up here and with her, and whenever he is worried, she smiles her easy smile, and some of her beauty transfers onto him for just one moment of shared happiness.

Sometimes, of course, they do talk, when they are up alone on the mountain, and there is nobody else to hear but the sheep down on the meadow and the bottomless abyss and his heart that is still beating painfully fast, unsure if it will ever be able to calm down.

She tells him of this and that, sometimes with words, and sometimes without, and he listens.

He never has to talk much himself, since she always knows what he is thinking, which feels strangely liberating. And so he sits next to her and bathes in her light and lives on the mountain's peak.

He has to go down eventually. She'll always beg him not to.

He has a longer way as well, up and down three other mountains until he reaches his village. She never has to leave as early as he does. (She never has to leave.)

They kiss when nobody is around, and sit in silence when there are other people with them, and sometimes she’ll hum a song and he’ll close his eyes and listen to the world breathe in, and everything will be fine for just a second.

They leave during midwinter.

“You don’t have to”, she says, actually speaking this time, and there is a slight anxiety in her that he has not seen before.

“I want to”, he replies, and reaches for her, wanting to kiss her again.

“No.” She steps back, and he follows, and they fly together, in the last sunlight of winter, just before it gets better again (but it doesn’t get better).

He is buried on the day of solstice.

The funeral is a small thing, beautiful in his way, but not in hers, and none of the few people who have come are smiling.

The priest reads off his name in a strained sing song that clearly states he hasn’t had anyone to ask how to pronounce it, all those interesting vowels mixed into one word, and after that, the coffin is dropped into the frozen ground, the shovels of the digging men clinking unceremoniously as they seal the grave shut.

One of them remembers him, at least.

“Saw the fellow once a week, at least”, he says, shaking his head. “Would always go up that bloody mountain and sit there on his own. No wonder he finally jumped.”

“He fell”, someone else argues, but since neither of them know, they don’t continue the discussion. There are more interesting things to talk about, anyway.


End file.
